This is officially my most reviewed story! (Even with the typos! which I implore you to continue ignoring out of appreciation for the expedience with which I am attempting to post) Thanks you guys! And for your suggestions as well - we have a winner in the interactive nick-name challenge, by popular consensus...

Conflict Resolution.

Dean had gathered the broken pieces of the mug into his hands as if handling a fragile baby bird, fallen from its nest. As if the cold, sharp ceramic, with it's jagged edges and stained finish were something precious and alive.

The pieces were transferred into Dean's bedside table. He removed the old bible that had been residing there for, Dean gathered from the layer of dust, forever, and placed it under his bed. He replaced it with the mug - destroyed, but still so much more Heaven adjacent than that dusty old book.

Since Sam and Diner Girl, who Sam was now affectionately calling "Ivy" much to Dean's chagrin, were really hitting it off, Dean didn't have it in him to suggest that they hit the road. As a result, they'd been there for two more days already.

Two days of Sam coming back to the motel with a definite love-glow, and Dean trying not to hate him for it as he sat around alone, refusing to admit that he regretted pushing Castiel away. Castiel, who he had not seen since that encounter.

He found himself quiet, mellow, internally distraught. He had a lot to think about, and Sam noticed that Dean wasn't his usual jibing self, but instead a sullen, reflective person.

Sam peered over at Dean, watching the man methodically pack his things into his duffel.

It was the third time he'd done so that day.

"You alright?" Sam asked, genuinely.

"Yeah, why?"

"You're kinda pale. You look like something's eating at you."

"I'm fine Sam," he stated a little too defensively.

Sam immediately straightened up, knowing that tone. "What happened?"

"I said I'm fine!"

Sam squinted at his brother, who was trying too desperately to pretend he didn't feel Sam staring. It was barely a minute before Dean broke. "What?"

"What really happened with Cas?" It didn't take a genius to notice the obvious lack of Angel in their motel room the past few days.

"Nothing. Why do you think something had to happen. He just left."

"Bullshit. You did something stupid didn't you?" Sam accused.

"Like what?" Dean asked as if it was a ridiculous accusation.

"Like lie to him. Like tell him to get the Hell away from you cause you don't swing that way-"

"Sam," Dean warned, a little put off by how well his brother knew him.

"Dean, why would you break his heart like that! Why would you break both your hearts?"

"Sam, I can't talk about this."

"Of course you can't," Sam threw down his duffel. "This is unbelievable." He stormed to the door, grabbing his coat and room key.

"Where the Hell are you going?" Dean demanded.

"Out!"

Sam stormed out and slammed the door behind him.

Dean threw down his own duffel. He considered punching the wall, but instead just stood there at the foot of his bed, on hand on his hip, the other rubbing his care-strained forehead.

Maybe he was getting too old for all of this self-denial. He knew he loved Cas. He had realized as much a long time ago, and it was thrown sharply to the forefront in the Angel's noticeable absence. Dean only wished he could just let himself have him.

If only it was that easy.

Just like Dean, Sam thought, one step forward, ten steps back.

It's always like this.

Dean trusts Sam, then he doesn't. Dean believes the world is precious, then he doesn't care if the whole thing burns. He wants a normal life, then he doesn't believe normal is possible. He wants to kiss Cas, and then he wants nothing to do with him.

Granted, Sam felt it appropriate to blame himself a little bit for how their relationship most recently came to a head. He'd apologized profusely but he couldn't be blamed entirely, it wasn't really his fault.

But Dean shut him down immediately, refusing to talk about it. He was refusing to acknowledge that it happened at all.

And Sam, eyes now open to the debacle that was Dean and Cas' affection for each other, could look back and see with every wince and every longing glance how Cas incessantly suffered in Dean's presence. Ever since Sam realized what his brother felt for the angel, he was having an impossible time ignoring it. And Dean pulling away, after such an intense display of affection, was tearing poor Castiel apart. Sam knew it, even if he wasn't seeing it first-hand.

Sometimes in the past Sam had been jealous of Cas' profound bond with his brother; he worried that in some ways Cas knew Dean better, that their relationship was somehow easier. Lead, follow - no questions, no doubt. A basic understanding of each others' motives. But Sam could see plain as day now that Cas and Dean were at a loss.

But as bad as Sam felt for Castiel, he couldn't help but take a backseat, because he knew it wasn't his place to explain Dean and his behavior. That fell to Dean himself. And it pained Sam to see, that Dean wasn't manning-up.

Sam sat heavily in his booth, all too happy to see his girl slide into the seat across from him.

"Uh oh," she started. "Let me guess," she put her fingers to her temples in that familiar mock-psychic pose, "it's about Dean..."

Sam couldn't help but give a laugh. "Didn't know I was that easy to read."

"Trust me, you are." They smiled at each other a moment before she asked, sincerely, "What's wrong?"

"Remember everything I said about Dean and his friend-"

"Who I now know is Castiel," she got rid of the allusion for him.

"Yeah. Well, remember how I said Dean was really stubborn and wouldn't admit how he felt?"

"The cat's kind of out of the bag after the whole, kissing in public thing, isn't it?"

"See, that's what a rational person would think."

"So, what? He's in the closet?" she asked carefully.

"There is no closet for Dean. That's how repressed he is. The closet doesn't even exist."

"Wow."

"Exactly."

"So... what's he gonna do?"

Sam shook his head, "I don't know. But whatever it is, I hope he does it soon. I can't help but feel like there's a window of opportunity here, ya know? Like if he doesn't say something soon, it's gonna be too late."

"That would be a shame," she said, staring down at the tabletop, looking genuinely saddened by the idea of Dean and Castiel's ships passing in the night.

Sam just stared at her. She really cared, and her words, that it would be a shame, they hit him hard. And not just in reference to his brother's happiness.

She felt Sam's eyes on her and looked up to see he was gazing at her kind of sadly. Suddenly, she wanted to kiss him, to run away with him.

Must be the God of 'sensual and irrational impulses' in my blood, she thought to herself.

Castiel was utterly baffled. And inexplicably hurting.

Sometimes the closer he got to Dean, the harder he was to see. Like a Monet. Up close, it's a riot of colorful brushstrokes. Beautiful, but complex and ultimately hard to understand. When you took a few steps back, the entirety of the picture could be seen more clearly, as all those individual brushstrokes came together to express an entire image.

But even having taken a step back from Dean, he still seemed a baffling jumble of beautiful brushstrokes.

Taking a few days away from the man had not allowed Castiel to understand him any better. But it had allowed him to reflect upon himself. And in his time in seclusion, he had finally allowed himself to admit the utter, sinful truth of the matter.

He loved Dean Winchester.

He loved him above all other men, all other of his Father's children. He loved him in a way that should have been uniquely human, should have been impossible for him. But he loved him nevertheless. He wasn't sure how he knew it, as he was not built to understand such a thing, but somehow Castiel did know.

Perhaps being able to see it thanks to Randy Gunning's charity with his cherished photos was making it easier. The photograph of the two of them standing together, their eyes locked, was enough to convince Castiel that he understood what he was feeling. But if that hadn't been enough, the second even more personal and telling image definitely was. He'd nearly forgotten a second picture was given, slipped into his pocket with a wink. But ever since he laid eyes on it, he was entranced. He often found he couldn't look away. It was printed truth. It was irrefutable evidence to the angel, that he did love the man.

And knowing, admitting to it, made all the difference. Now he had something to fight for. He felt a painful pull, deeming it necessary for him to explain himself, and to ask Dean to love him back.

So Castiel waited until he knew Sam would be gone for some time. And then he flew down to Dean.

Dean seemed surprised to see him. His eyes were wide and so dark today, like they would be when he was tired; his hands ticking nervously at his sides. Castiel remained strong, he did not show any weakness or nervousness, that he could help.

"Cas... where've you-"

"I feel that the last time we spoke I did not... express myself properly," Castiel began, his voice strong and unwavering. "I have come to express to you the truth of my desire, which has, I think, progressed beyond normal boundaries of friendship. I don't believe I made that clear, the last time we conversed."

"Look-"

"Dean, I have come to inform you that... that I believe I love you."

Castiel's hands had started to shake. Despite his efforts, and even his angelic strength, he was as vulnerable as a bare nerve. And Dean's parted lips, his shining eyes, and most of all his long silence did nothing to calm the angel.

Finally Dean was able to move. He looked away, shaking his head, "Cas, I can't-"

Dean was going to say that he couldn't talk about that right now, but then suddenly, he found that he literally couldn't talk about it right now. Cas lips were warm and soft against his own, but scratchy in a way that made him unique to anyone else Dean had ever kissed. His kisses were amateur in their style. Cas felt... new. But his passion, the way his lips pressed a little too hard, the way he traced Dean's lips with his tongue a little too vehemently, that passion made it seem like they'd been in love a thousand years and never tired of each other. Something in the way he pressed himself into Dean and tilted his head to capture his lips more easily, made it so easy for Dean to feel like he was trapped in some sort of ancient legend of eternal love. Like Cas was going to take him away to another world, and he was going to let him.

Cas sucked at his bottom lip and Dean's heart fluttered so hard he sagged a little against the angel. And when Dean joined him in endless shallow kisses it was as if he was letting Cas learn him one touch, one brush of lips, one moment at a time. It was...

Too good...

His heart wrenched in his chest.

Dean pulled away violently. He pushed Castiel away and watched as the angel nearly toppled backward onto the desk.

Castiel had never been so embarrassed to be off his game in his entire existence. Angels of the Lord cannot be shoved by men. It was just another way Dean had weakened him, had made him vulnerable and then hurt him, had denied him what was so obviously his.

Dean watched, staying still as an child caught before a panther, as Castiel's jaw and hands clenched tight. There was a violent kind of sharpness in his eyes that had Dean's knees inexplicably wanting to buckle beneath him. The lights in the room flickered until the bulbs popped, cracking with the pressure of Castiel's force. Dean ducked at the sound of every crack, but Castiel was still as stone - aside from a wrathful shaking.

And then, before anything more could be said, Castiel disappeared.

Sam returned to the room, instinctually reaching for the light switch before Dean could get out more than, "Wait don't-"

With the flip of the switch the lights on the walls sparked and gave a loud crack. Sam ducked and Dean jolted despite himself before turning on the dim bedside lamp - a lone survivor.

Sam took in the sight of the scorch-marks on the walls by the lights, and the bits of lightbulb glass in the carpets. "What the Hell happened in here?"

"Apparently Cas doesn't take rejection well."

Sam stilled for a moment, then looked down at his shoes, then nodded resolutely. It was all a little off-putting to Dean, who was watching him out of the corner of his eye, not sure what to expect.

"Dean, we're gonna talk about this."

"Uh, no. We're definitely not."

"You are in some sore of denial-"

"Stop it Sam."

"-over your feelings for Cas-"

Dean erupted, "I am not gay!"

"I'm not judging you!"

"There's nothing to judge! Because I am not gay! I'm not a -"

"Dean," Sam warned.

Dean took a breath.

"It 2012, will you stop being so repressed."

"And will you stop shoving this down my throat!"

Woah! very Freudian choice of words Dean...

"Shut up!"

"I didn't say anything!" Sam demanded.

"Not you!"

Sam cocked his head at Dean. If not him then who? They were alone...

"Ugh! This is impossible!" Dean threw his hands up.

"Dean...are you hearing voices?"

"Oh stop it Sam. I beg you. I can't handle any more self-assessment today."

"Ok." He nodded, but he couldn't help it, "But..."

"No! I'm not hearing friggin' voices! I was... I was talking to myself, ok?"

"Right," he conceded in a tone that said he was wary and treading carefully.

"And don't talk to me like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like I'm gonna explode!"

"I won't bother. You're clearly already exploding," Sam snarked calmly at his brother.

Dean collapsed onto the motel bed, flat on his back with his hands over his face.

Sam came quietly to sit on the edge of his own bed.

"I'm not sure if this is an image thing, or, an 'afraid to commit' kind of thing," Sam started quietly, "but I can't stand watching you do this, Dean. I can't. It literally physically pains me."

Dean peaked out from behind his hands.

Sam saw the opening and continued, "I know how you feel about him even if you won't say it out loud. And you don't have to. I'm not asking you to. But if there's even the chance, that you could be... I don't know, as close to happy as we get, with him..."

Dean sighed heavily. He said, resigned and looking away from Sam toward the opposite wall, "I was a real asshole to him."

Sam nodded. "Tell him why. Say you're sorry. He'll forgive you."

"Thanks Doctor Phil."

Sam rolled his eyes, but he caught his brother glance at him briefly, as if he wished he really could say Thank you. Instead what came out was an oddly vulnerable, "What if he doesn't?"

"He will," Sam answered without even having to think.

"How do you know?" Dean shot, doubtful of Sam's certainty.

"God, seriously? You're dense..." Sam sighed. "Because he feels the same way, jackass." There was a long moment of silence where Sam watched his brother very closely as Dean thought that over. Sam offered carefully, "He's only been MIA for two days, and you're miserable."

Dean gave him a dangerous glare that told Sam he was pushing it, but he couldn't help it. He knew his big brother needed some pushing.

"Dean, and I say this as the only person who really knows you and what a self-denying idiot you are - if you don't make this right, you'll regret it. You'll crawl into a bottle and shove it down with everything else until you can pretend it doesn't exist. But you'll never get over it. So for once, for once, just..." Sam sighed heavily, "just call him. I'm taking the Impala."

Sam got up heavily, grabbed Dean's keys off the nightstand and stared down at his brother for a moment. He slapped Dean on the knee, a Winchester show of support, and left him alone with his thoughts.

Diner Girl was wiping down a table when she heard the bell for the door jingle. She turned to see six foot four, dreamboat Sam moseying in, the very air around him whispering Complicated. But there was something about him, she blushed to see, that stated clear as day, Good. She couldn't help but be glad he was back.

"Hey Ivy, you need some help closing up?" he joked with a smile.

She rolled her eyes at the nick-name, "What're you stalking me?"

"Tryin' to give my brother some space."

She nodded in understanding. "He figuring it out yet?"

"I think maybe," Sam said optimistically. He was pleased when she smiled at that. "I'm hoping he talks to him tonight."

"Well, I was just closing up, but, I have a brand new pot of coffee I'd hate to pour down the drain, if you wanted to-"

"Yeah, sure," he answered a little too quickly. They both smiled.

"Good," she said, "cause you owe me some exposition."

"Huh?" he asked with a confused smile.

She didn't answer, but went to get the coffee. Sam made himself comfortable in his usual booth and soon they were sipping hot coffee and chatting like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"So" she started with a heavy sigh, "I'm the distant descendant of an Ancient Greek God." She nodded at him. "Too bad I can't put that on a resume."

Sam laughed.

"Sometimes I just have to say it out loud," she tells him. "I'm still trying to wrap my head around it."

Sam nodded, understanding.

"You know, I don't really remember a lot about Dionysus from school."

"He's the God of wine," Sam informed.

"I do love a box of wine."

He laughed, shaking his head at her as she shot him a mischievous smirk. "Alright, come on," she started suddenly.

"What?" Sam asked.

"I want the origin story. The whole thing. Because the little snippets I've gathered here and there aren't really painting a complete picture of you and your brother and his secret lover and what exactly you guys do."

"Ah," Sam said nodding, as if he'd expected this. He looked at her and said, "Ok."

"Ok?" she asked surprised. "You're actually gonna tell me? Wow... I thought there'd be more of a fight there."

"Yeah, me too." He hadn't meant to say that, but it was out there now, so he added, "I guess I'm just tired of being a mystery."

She rolled her eyes, smiling. "Well, let's have it."

Sam took a deep breath, "Ok so, you know how there are people out there who believe in the supernatural?"

She squints at him warily, "Yeah..."

"Well, I'm one of them."

Her eyebrows raised.

"Actually, I don't really have to believe, I just know. Because I've seen it."

She nodded at him continuously, still wary, but almost amused.

"My brother and I, we help people who are dealing with that kind of stuff."

"So... if there's something strange, in the neighborhood, you're who I'm gonna call. If there's something weird, and it don't look good, you're the one I call..."

Sam squinted at her mischievous look and barely contained smile with a furrowed brow.

She smirked, "You ain't afraid of no ghosts."

Then it clicked, and Sam deflated in irritation, biting the inside of his cheek while she laughed, seeing he had gotten the joke.

"Ghostbusters!" she sang, and laughed as he shook his head, trying not to let his amusement show.

He tried to be angry, but her laugh was infectious - he was at a loss. Whose got the lyrics to the Ghostbusters theme filed away, just, at their disposal? He cracked a smile.

"Ah - there it is!" she pointed at his smile.

"Very funny," he tried to sound irritated, but his smile wasn't doing much for the tone.

"I'm sorry, but come on. What're you saying to me - that you console people who have been poltergeist-ed?"

"Consolation isn't really what I meant."

She quieted and looked at him closely. "You're not kidding..."

He shook his head.

"Ok..." she said, and Sam could see her visibly trying to wrap her mind around it. "Explain it to me."

Her demand was calm though curious, and she sat there looking at him expectantly. "Wha - really?" He couldn't help but be surprised at her reaction.

"Way i figure it, I can tell you're not a liar, so I don't think you're making it up just to screw with me. So there are two possibilities. Either A, you're a total fruitcake who thinks he hunts ghosts but really just spends his time in some sort of dissociative fugue state where you like, talk to dumpsters and watch too much Buffy. Or B, you're actually sane and telling the truth. I haven't decided yet which possibility is more terrifying."

"...Wow."

"My final assessment is yet to come."

He just started at her, in awe.

"Well come on, let me have it."

"O-ok," he settled in his seat and looked at his hands trying to decide where to start. "Ghosts, demons, witches, angels - all that stuff you read about in teen fantasy novels and ancient lore... It's all real."

"Ghosts and witches I can buy. I've already seen the whole, ancient deity thing in action. But... demons?"

"Oh yeah," he took a sip of his coffee. "They're real. And dangerous. And they look just like anybody else, so they can be hard to spot."

She stared at him, enrapt.

"And that's just the tip of the iceberg. There's thousands of things out there you'd never believe were real. All kinds of ancient creatures, pagan gods - from every culture, religion and region of the world."

She nodded, eyes focused on a spot on the table as she worked through this information. "So... what is it you... do?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably. As if the other proclamations didn't make him seem like a total nut, this next part was sure to do the trick and paint him as a true psychotic. "Mostly, uh... mostly we kill things."

Her eyebrows raised, but she didn't bolt. So Sam took the opportunity to get out as much as he could as fast as he could, hoping to explain it to her before she ran for her life. "My brother Dean and me, we go to places where we know there's something paranormal hurting innocent people and we kill it to save its potential future victims-"

She put up her hand to stop him. "You kill ghosts? And witches. And pagan... monster-things."

He nodded.

"How?"

Again, she'd surprised him, and he just sat there staring at her for a long moment before snapping out of it. "Well, uh, different creatures take different methods to put them down. Usually we have to do a lot of research, find out what the lore says. But, uh.. for ghosts, you have to burn their bones. Then they go, you know, whenever they're supposed to go. And they're gone. And our job is done."

She stared at him a long time. So long it made him uncomfortable and he wanted to ask if she was ok but thought better of it.

"Wow.." she finally said.

He gave an awkward laugh, nervously, waiting for what else she had to say.

"So... what's the point?"

Sam looked at her carefully - this was a test. He knew the answer. "To save as many people as we can."

She gave a hint of a smile. "So you're like... an unsung hero."

He laughed. "Uh, yeah, I guess."

His cheeks grew pink with blush, and she really liked the look of it.

"So," Sam smirked devilishly, "An invisible man, sleeping in your bed. Who ya gonna call?"

She nearly busted out laughing, but held it in. "Definitely you."

Dean hated himself for the way his hands trembled. How he'd managed to get himself so wrapped around the axle for this angel, he'd never understand. He paced the small motel room, freshly tidied as it was, and took a deep breath. He wished that it would work like breathing in courage, because at that moment he was feeling remarkably like a coward.

But it was time. Time to face the music.

I can do this. I have to do this.

His talk with Sam had all but convinced him, leaving him feeling like he owed it to himself, and to Cas. But the real clincher, was when he opened the drawer of the bedside table to peer at his special mug (as he often did, several times a day) and found a familiar-looking polaroid resting on top of it.

It wasn't his own, he knew exactly where he'd stashed his precious photograph, and he had the image memorized. This was different, and he realized with a sinking heart, left intentionally by Castiel. He picked it up, his heart thumping in his chest as he examined the image - his own visage, looking hard and unamused, staring at the irritating man behind the camera. And beside him, Castiel - flanking him, just behind his right shoulder, standing guard for him, and looking at Dean as though he were the superior being, as if he wielded all the power and Cas was hopelessly in awe, instead of the other way around.

Dean had never seen anything like it - captured truth.

He noticed beneath it was a second photo, one that he'd forgotten all about - the snapshot of his and Cas' kiss at the Grapevine. He was shocked, at the way he and Cas seemed to fit together, at the way that, even knowing the circumstances in which the photo was taken, it looked so perfectly intimate. It didn't look like two guys necking, it looked like soulmates, fused - like something Annie Liebowitz might have given her right arm to have captured herself.

Dean went to his duffel and got out his own polaroid, the image captured of him awing over Castiel, and he held all three pictures in his hand, his eyes tracing every detail from left to right.

He was certain now, that he had to make things right, or try at least. He had to be honest, now or never.

Of course, the certainty didn't cease the trembling of his hands, which he noticed with a huff as he placed the photographs back in the nightstand.

He balled his hands into fists and cleared his throat, "Cas?" he called quietly.

He rolled his eyes at himself, "C'mon Dean." He clenched his fists harder and used a full voice, "Hey Cas, it's Dean. I uh, I need to talk to you."

He waited for that sound, the whisper of wings and the tingle of the hairs on the back of his neck that would signify the angel's arrival.

But he didn't hear or feel anything.

"Cas, please. I need to... I just..." he pinched the bridge of his nose, collecting his thoughts. "I owe you an apology," he said clearly. "I think... I think I owe you an explanation for why I'm being such a dick." Still, nothing. "Cas please, I feel like an idiot pouring my heart out to the ceiling -"

"I'm here."

Dean gasped, spinning around to see the angel standing stiffly across the room, his eyes cold.

"Geez," Dean clutched his chest. "You're like a friggin' ninja," he joked.

Cas remained still, unamused. He simply stared, in that way he did, and Dean had to look away. Because nothing put him more in his place than looking into those blue eyes and knowing that he'd done wrong.

Dean cleared his throat, feeling the trembling of his hands again. "I'm glad you... I wanted to, uh... Look, I was a real jerk to you, ok? And I know it. And, I thought that you should know, that I know..."

Castiel remained silent.

"Because, I meant what I said when - when we were - after we - I mean, in the fire. And then, I didn't mean what I said the other night. About the...about it not meaning anything."

Castiel gave no indication of being effected whatsoever by his words. Dean could feel a panic rising in himself. He was barely getting a coherent sentence out, and Cas' lack of response oddly wasn't helping.

"Jesus, Cas, gimme something to work with here."

Cas' eyes flared momentarily and Dean stilled. "Perhaps you ought to make yourself clear," Cas offered, his voice low and even. It was a warning, of sorts.

"I'm just, trying to say I'm sorry for the way I treated you."

"But not for what you said. Merely for how you said it," Cas questioned sharply.

"Yeah - No! I'm trying to-"

"You're trying to alleviate your guilt. Of course Dean. Allow me to help you, I forgive your harsh tone with me. There. Now you may carry on with your days free of our encounter."

"Now wait -"

"I will not. I will not waste another moment standing here while you prostrate yourself at my feet, while you lie to yourself and to me. I told the truth Dean. Do us both a favor, don't grovel."

"I'm trying to tell the truth right now, if you'd quit being such a bitch and listen to me!"

Castiel stepped forward and Dean had the decency at least not to back away like a frightened child. He stood his ground, even if every instinct in his body was screaming red alert at him for pissing off an angel.

Somehow he never could stop himself from kicking the Holy wasps nest. And Castiel was certainly buzzing now.

"Why do you suppose the truth is so difficult for you to come by?" Cas growled.

And Dean could say nothing. He merely glared at the angel, his every muscle shaking, twitching to either hit Castiel, or kiss him.

"Why is it so impossible for you," Cas started, low and gravelly, "to stand with me on this? To follow my lead, just once?"

"It's not that simple," Dean growled back.

"It is, Dean."

"No, Cas, it's not."

"Why?"

"Because-"

"Why!"

"You scare the crap out of me Cas, alright!"

"Dean, don't patronize me." His voice made it apparent how livid he truly was. "I have never known you to be afraid of anything, least of all me."

"Well, times have changed I guess," Dean answered wryly.

Castiel leaned back, so he wasn't quite so in Dean's face, and stared at the man empirically.

And then, his eyes softened.

Dean's stomach flipped in the silence, in the wake of what he'd said.

"I know that you feel for me," Castiel admitted, his voice soft like Dean had never heard before. "I know that you lied to me, when you said it meant nothing."

Dean's eyes shot down to the floor. He very noticeably did not disagree.

"Then why?" Castiel pleaded for an answer.

"Because -" Dean lifted his eyes to see Castiel's, so blue, so desperate for an explanation, for the truth for once.

And so, for once, Dean gave it.

His voice was barely a rasp, but it was strong enough, "Because you could really destroy me."

Cas' brow furrowed and he tilted his head at Dean like he really didn't understand.

Dean couldn't stop now. The truth was out, the wall around his heart, around the truth of his feelings, was fizzling away, and it wasn't coming back up - not in time.

"You're the only one," Dean admitted, his voice shaking, barely audible. "If I let it go all the way, if I give in all the way - I won't be able to protect myself. I don't know how you did it Cas - you worked your way into every part of me, and now - it's hopeless. If I let you in, I would live every day of my life with the knowledge that you are fully capable of crushing me, completely - because we had it, the real thing, and I lost that... I just, I don't think I can..."

"Dean," that familiar, distinct gravelly voice suddenly sounded...odd. It shook in a way, pitched higher than usual, but still strong. "Don't you imagine that goes both ways?"

And the look on Dean's face, like he really hadn't imagined it, almost fractured Cas' heart.

"You are the one man for whom I would lay down everything. My life. My purpose. And now, I fear, something even deeper." Cas took a steadying breath and continued, "I have spent a long time being afraid of giving myself over, to one thing or another. A long time - fighting desire, or doubt. The minute I met you it all started to change. You, started to change me. I hated you for it, in the beginning. But I see now, I finally see," his blue eyes pierced Dean, searching and, to Cas' relief, finding in Dean what he was hoping for. "There is a kind of bliss, in giving in. In giving yourself over. A reckless, insouciant kind of willingness that brings a deeper pleasure, a more profound joy," his voice shook and his eyes shone desperately and Dean could barely breathe. Cas' eyes pleaded with him, to understand. "I have spent enough time denying myself what I want. As have you." He touched trembling fingertips to Dean's jawline, his heart jumping when Dean's eyelids fluttered for the briefest moment, his eyebrows drawing together. Castiel, stood before Dean, entirely resolved. "If you destroy me, so be it."

That statement, that proclamation, was all it took. It finally clicked in Dean's brain. The blissful abandon Cas spoke of suddenly made sense. He understood. The power of the thing, of what they had, it was always going to have a price.

Cas was it for him - the one, with all the power over him. But Dean realized now, he was Cas' one too - he held Cas' very existence in his hands. It was powerful, almost too heady to wrap his mind around. But he knew, more clearly now than ever, if he truly gave in, he would never regret it.

He would never hurt Cas. And Cas, would do the same. Castiel would never, could never, bear to destroy him. He simply knew so.

That was the trust Dean had always failed to grasp.

But he did now.

He smiled, letting all of the tension he'd been holding since he'd met the angel release with a long, deep sigh, leaving him feeling lighter than he had since he was a boy. "Insouciant, huh?" he joked, his voice barely a whisper.

Cas' head tilted, his eyes deep, darkly concerned at the lack of depth to Dean's response. Dean smiled, glad that he could still throw him off, and reveling in finally allowing himself to appreciate how beautiful the angel was without holding back. Cas' eyebrows drew together, seeing Dean's smile, and glad for it, but not quite ready yet to give that sigh of relief. He was suspended over a precipice, once again waiting for Dean's word to either damn him or pull him into shared bliss.

Dean's eyes met his, and Castiel could see something had shifted, something had changed.

"Ok," was all Dean could manage, breathy and accompanied by a frantic nodding. "Ok."

Castiel huffed out a breath he seemed to have been holding for years, a true smile breaking out across his face. Dean felt Cas breathe that sigh of relief, and was oddly proud of himself. Now that the deal was sealed, he was excited. Terrified, but excited.

They were in it together. For real now. Together.

You guys knew all along I wasn't gonna leave them all distraught forever, didn't you? Alas, you know me too well.

I really enjoyed writing this chapter, so I hope you liked it.